


Velkommen hjem

by kristantinople



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 10:27:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21848179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristantinople/pseuds/kristantinople
Summary: I got so excited to write this that it actually got much longer than I originally thought and so I'm splitting this up into two parts even thought this is kinda short. However the second half will have Greg singing to Nick in Norwegian (!!) so stay tuned :)DISCLAIMER. I cannot speak Norwegian, but I used to live in Denmark and the languages are similar, though there may be mistakes I've made in translation (more so with the next ch).Translation:"med Nana og Papa på Pier 39, SF"  - with Nana and Papa on Pier 39"Sanford Universitets akseptbrev" - Sanford University acceptance letter"juledag" - Christmas  Day
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes
Comments: 10
Kudos: 21





	Velkommen hjem

Greg had practically sprinted to the bathroom when they finally arrived home, having called dibs to the shower and unbuckled his seat belt before Nick's truck had even come to a full stop in his driveway. Nick couldn't hide his amusement as he rolled the windows of his truck up and climbed out before walking towards the front door, but he understood. Greg and Catherine had spent most of their night trudging through the contents of a dumpster on Sands Avenue, and Nick had been only half-joking when he suggested that Greg ride in the bed of the truck on their way home. 

Inside, the master bedroom looked much the same as they had left it last night before leaving for work. The blankets and sheets had been hastily pulled up in a halfhearted attempt to make the bed. The blackout curtains were still pulled down over the windows, with only a small sliver of light from the bright desert sun peeking out into the dark confines of their shared space.

Nick made quick work of shucking off his jeans and unbuttoning the front of his shirt. He tossed his clothes into the hamper before rummaging in his drawers for his favorite pair of worn sweatpants. His shower could wait til morning, Nick thought with a tired sigh; he summoned the strength to shuffle across the house and into the kitchen to fill two glasses of water before returning to the bedroom.

He took a sip from his glass before placing it on his nightstand and walked around the bed to leave the other on Greg's table, flipping on his bedside lamp to bathe the room in a soft yellow light. Nick all but flopped with a grunt into the bed. He groaned, stretched to roll out his shoulders and hips before flexing his toes in the thin summer sheets. Down the hallway he heard the muted squeak of metal rings sliding across the curtain rod as the curtain was pulled back.

Nick took his time to slowly decompress from his shift by listening to the quiet hum of early morning traffic zip by one street over, and then the sputter of the air conditioning unit kicking on just outside his window. Nick paused for a moment to take in the sounds of quiet, suburban Las Vegas as he slowly rolled over onto his back, cradling the back of his head in his hands as he breathed in the familiar air of his home. His eyes floated up to the ceiling, and Nick tried to make out images in the popcorn finish of the ceiling before lowering his gaze to sweep his eyes across the interior of the room.

Nick's side of their room was neat, sparse, and organized; Nick hadn't bothered to haul most of his stuff all the way to Nevada after accepting this job in Las Vegas. Instead, he had managed to unload most of his childhood and college memorabilia onto his parents, whose big ranch house back in Texas had photos, diplomas, and family heirlooms proudly displayed on every wall and shelf of their home. So, Nick had taken only what he could fit in his old truck when he journeyed solo across the desert, telling himself he'd get around to decorating the place after he got himself settled. That had been over five years ago, and in all that time, he hadn't managed to tack so much as one frame to a wall. He had told himself he just didn't spend enough time at home to justify sprucing up the place.

That's where Greg had come in, falling perfectly into place inside this house and finally turning it into a home. 

Greg was messy and chaotic but brought with him an energy that radiated warmth and comfort. Unbridled bookworm that he was, Greg had hundreds of books stacked high on shelves and in corners in multiple rooms throughout the house, including their bedroom.

Nick thought back fondly to when Greg's lease was up and how, after much internal debate, Nick had finally asked him not to renew but move in with him instead. As Greg moved the bulk of his belongings to Nick's place, he was struck by how Greg had unloaded box after box after heavy box of endless books, textbooks, b-grade horror movies, old magazines, photos, vintage comics, chemistry sets, diving gear, school work, camera equipment, and grungy band t-shirts into Nick's too stark-white home and breathed life into it for the first time. 

Something on Greg's night stand caught his eye; it hadn't been in their room yesterday, or at least it hadn't been sitting out in the open, that much Nick knew. A small red book, about the size of a post-card, sat atop a short stack of books on the table- a small sample of Greg's night time pleasure reading. It wasn't the book by itself that caught Nick's eye though, but the picture of the man beaming proudly on the cover of it. 

Nick was sure this had to be Papa Olaf. Greg had idolized his late grandfather growing up, and always spoke with revere when retelling to Nick the antics of the gentle giant. He had been a carpenter and a fish monger for most of his life in Norway before immigrating to Minnesota, starting a family, and finally settling in southern California. He had retired early in Greg's childhood, and Greg was closer to Papa Olaf than any other member of his family. Nick wished he'd had the opportunity to meet the man Greg had been so fond of.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Nick felt an uptick in his heartbeat when he picked up the small book to discover it was in fact a photo album, grinning as he removed it from the stack to take a look inside. He turned the cover over to the first page.

Three figures stood out on a crowded street; a boardwalk, or maybe a pier, Nick mused. It was a photo of Greg and his grandparents somewhere near the ocean, probably in California. The elderly couple smiled and hugged each other's side tight in the busy scene. Greg's grandparents had an old-world charm about them, stoic and beaming, a clear example of decades of love. Nick swallowed, idly wondered how many years the two had been married. 

Greg, his Nana, and Papa Olaf were standing in front of a lit up sign in the shape of a ship's wheel, emblazoned with the insignia "Fisherman's Wharf of San Francisco". Papa Olaf had one hand clasped over the shoulder of a boyish-faced Greg, and even at six feet tall Greg looked dwarfed in comparison to his grandfather; he had to still be a teenager in this photo. That Greg looked skinnier than he was now, if that were even possible, swallowed up in comically-baggy flared jeans and a tight black Nirvana t-shirt. His hair was a mop of shaggy blond that blew in front of his face in the photo, but even underneath all the hair, Nick could see his signature smile split from ear to ear.

He flipped over the photo and thought he recognized the handwriting in an unfamiliar language.

"med Nana og Papa på Pier 39, oktober 1996"

On the opposite page was another photo. Greg, close in age to the previous snapshot, sat at the end of a lacquered dining table that looked simple yet beautifully hand-crafted. Greg was pimple-faced and flushed red, and his hair was gelled up into liberty spikes down the middle of his head. Nick couldn't tell if Greg was actually wearing eyeliner or not due to the shadows in the photo, but noticed his fingernails were painted black. _God_ , Nick thought, the punk-rocker vibe Greg had going on had looked spectacular on him even as a teenager. Greg's mother and father, dressed much more conventionally, stood smiling on either side of him and were both hunched to look over his shoulders; In his hands, Greg was holding a piece of paper that had been pulled out of a thick mailer, and Nick could just barely make out what looked like a University logo embossed in red foil on the envelope. He flipped the page to see yet another caption on the back in what he swore looked just like Greg's messy scrawl. 

"Sanford Universitets akseptbrev, februar 1995"

On the next page, Greg sat next to Papa Olaf on a weathered sofa, who held a tobacco pipe in one hand and clasped young Greg's knee with his other. The living room was decked out in Christmas decorations, and Nick could just make out the lights on a Christmas tree blurring out the top corner of the shot. Greg was younger in this photo, plaid pajama bottoms low on his hips and his bare feet stuck out only slightly from the excess material pooled at his ankles. He was wearing an X-files shirt that Nick recognized immediately as the one on the top of Greg's laundry pile, now almost threadbare. He was wearing a puka shell necklace and had a mouth slap full of braces, his hair sticking out wildly in every direction. Both men were laughing at someone or something out of frame, and Nick quietly thanked God for whoever had been standing in this room all those years ago with a camera in hand to capture such a perfect moment in time. He flipped the page again.

"juledag, 1991."

The next photograph was of the same living room, but this time Greg was sitting cross-legged on the floor and his mother sat in his previous spot on the couch. The photographer had snapped the photo right as Greg was unwrapping a new Discman, his mouth frozen in a partial exclamation, the wrapping paper peeled back in a loose spiral and hanging down. Greg's mother's petite hand was stretched across to softly grip Olaf's knee and suddenly Nick knows exactly why Greg has always been so touchy feely around both him and others, wonders if Greg realizes how strikingly cohesive his little family looks, all bright eyes and blonde hair and the same warm smiles. 

Nick wondered which relative might have taken these Christmas photos. Maybe it had been Greg's father? As far as Nick knew, Greg didn't have any aunts or uncles or cousins in addition to growing up with no siblings; He wonders if Greg's family Christmases were quiet, in contrast to the raucous that shook the Stokes' walls every holiday season. Nick, the youngest of seven, had been an uncle by the time he was nine, and remembers different pieces of his family coming and going from the ranch in continuous, boisterous waves from Thanksgiving through to the New Year. Football games with his cousins in the back yard, catching fireflies with his uncles while hyped up on sugar from too many smores, and playing games of hide-n-go-seek that spread out over five acres of property. 

Nick was so lost in thought he didn't hear when Greg finished in the shower, and the sound of the bedroom door sliding open almost made him jump out of his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> I got so excited to write this that it actually got much longer than I originally thought and so I'm splitting this up into two parts even thought this is kinda short. However the second half will have Greg singing to Nick in Norwegian (!!) so stay tuned :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER. I cannot speak Norwegian, but I used to live in Denmark and the languages are similar, though there may be mistakes I've made in translation (more so with the next ch). 
> 
> Translation:  
> "med Nana og Papa på Pier 39, SF" - with Nana and Papa on Pier 39
> 
> "Sanford Universitets akseptbrev" - Sanford University acceptance letter
> 
> "juledag" - Christmas Day


End file.
